


Live ‘til a nice, ripe old age

by Tsuki (Tsuki_Taiyo)



Series: The Martyr [3]
Category: Discord Murder Party (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuki_Taiyo/pseuds/Tsuki
Summary: Fuck.
Series: The Martyr [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019548
Kudos: 4





	Live ‘til a nice, ripe old age

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters, they belong to their actors and Internet Remix.
> 
> Have fun ^^

Fuck. Vincent poured himself another glass. How did this all go so wrong?

His stare drifted across his room, stuck to the book on his nightstand. The words of the title seemed to swim in front of his eyes, dancing around one another until Vincent’s head hurt. He looked away again. Reading had never been his favorite past time. Then again: What else could you do in the middle of this godforsaken Limbo. Outpost of hell or whatever the fuck the Void wanted to be.

Vincent turned back to the whiskey bottle in front of him. He couldn’t even remember which bottle he was on. It might have been Bushmills or maybe Ardberg or perhaps Atherton. _Ah, the perks of living in the limbo of never-ending pain with no consequences._

He downed the glass. The taste of chocolate and fruits coated his tongue, followed by the sharp taste of smoke and peat. It didn’t help as well as it usually did. There was uneasiness deep in his bones that refused to go away. Vincent spun on his heel, grumbling under his breath.

_It should have been me._

The thought crystallized out of his mess with frightening clarity.

_If anyone had to sacrifice himself for the kid, it should have been me. She always gloats about how I’m the fucking hero of the story. I should have been the one to do the sacrifice. That bitch said she needed a hero. What kind of fucking hero just stands back and lets others give up their life?_

The room was too small. The way around his bed not enough. Everything in him strained to get out. To do something. Anything.

_But what is there to do? We’re trapped in this bloody hellhole. And the one I’d really like to punch is not around. She’s never around._

Vincent spun on his heel and slammed the glass into the wall. It shattered with a satisfying clang that seemed to echo around the room. For a moment, Vincent just stood there, in the middle of his room, staring at the glass shards on the floor. Light glinted off of them like some cheap imitation of crystals. He wrinkled his nose. Another glass already stood next to the whisky bottles on the shelf.

Steps stopped in front of the door.

Vincent froze. His thoughts scrambled between willing whoever stood in front of his door to go away and begging them to come in and distract him from his own thoughts. _Junior. Probably Junior. He always goes looking after everyone these days. Or maybe one of the others comes to me for help._ He stared at the closed door unblinkingly.

Slowly, as if reluctant, the shadow underneath the door retreated. Soft footfalls disappeared down the hall. So, no, whoever was in front of his door either didn’t dare or didn’t want to talk to him. Or couldn’t face him for what happened. A door clicked closed down the hall.

Sighing, Vincent ran a hand through his hair. If not even his so-called family could face him – for whatever reasons, they did not even really matter at this point – what was left? _It should have been me. Yugo would have been able to calm everyone down, unite them._ He snarled. _Fucking hell. I hate to think it, but we should have listened to Doc. Murder God is not our friend, not even close. I thought I realized after she pulled the shit with the kid._ Vincent whirled around to return to his route around his room.

Memories flashed before his mind’s eye of their “host” scrambling to explain – not much of anything really in hindsight – or crying for their sympathy. _And I allowed it to happen. To let her lull me in._ Vincent scowled, balling his hands into fists. _Well not anymore. From now on, I’m not going to fall for it again._

As if mocking him, her voice drifted through his head. “ _The path from here is yours to choose_ ,” she sighed. “ _I hope you’re sufficiently motivated_.” He could almost see her standing in front of him, a challenge in her tone. “ _I am Fate. Stop me, if you can_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I did google matching whisky brands and tastes...


End file.
